What Things May Come
by smurftoes
Summary: This is my concept of what could have happened post-season-two. It is not set up in "episodes," but in scenes. We'll see how far it goes. I'm a die-hard Joan/Adam shipper, and will work my darnedest to get those two back together.
1. Telling Grace

Grace picked at a loose string at the hem of her shirt while she waited for Joan to answer the door. If this was about Adam Rove, she was going to turn around and walk back home. She couldn't really imagine what else Joan would want to talk about so desperately. It seemed like that was all she talked about these days. Adam was only slightly easier to hang out with—he never talked about Joan, but Grace could tell he never stopped thinking about her.

The door opened.

"Good, you're here." Joan hardly looked at Grace. She was busy looking over Grace's shoulder, scanning the yard as if she expected someone to ambush her.

Grace lifted her eyebrows as she watched Joan crane her neck to look down the street. "Paranoid much, Girardi?"

"Just come inside and up to my room." Grace held her hands up in surrender. She gave up understanding Joan a long time ago.

In Joan's room, Grace slumped on the bed and tried to ignore Joan's pacing—it was shattering her nerves. "So you said there was something you needed to tell me," she ventured, "or did you just plan to drive me insane with your nervous energy?"

"Sorry, Grace." Joan took a deep breath and settled onto the bench by her window. "There is something I need to tell you…I just…it's not easy."

Grace decided not to press her any more, but she also braced herself on the edge of the bed, ready to spring toward the door if Rove's name came up. She decided weeks ago that if she was going to stay friends with both Joan and Adam, she absolutely was not going to let herself get caught between them.

Finally, Joan figured out how to start, "Grace, you know what you said to me that night that Adam was missing…" Grace tensed up. Her eyes rolled up to the ceiling as she tried to remember what Joan was talking about.

"Um…if this is about Rove…" Grace began, but Joan cut her off.

"No. It's not about Adam. It's about me. You said I had secrets and they kept people from getting close—that I did all these crazy projects and never gave you guys a decent explanation…" Joan stood up and resumed her pacing. "Well, you were right. I've been keeping a big part of my life secret from everyone."

Joan looked over at grace, gauging her reaction, but Grace was still guarded.

"That's not news, Girardi. But I suppose admitting you have a problem is the first step on the road to recovery."

"Grace, this isn't easy for me." Grace smirked at Joan's glare and gestured for Joan to continue.

"Okay, so all of those crazy projects I do, and things I get obsessed with—they're all…uh…missions from God."

Grace raised her eyebrows and waited for Joan to say more.

"I talk to God. God talks to me. He started it, actually—the talking. And he asks me to do things. Usually they help people. Sometimes I screw them up. It's a steep learning curve." Joan paused for a breath. "Grace, please say something before I go crazy!"

"Oh, I think you've got that covered, Girardi."

"Right," Joan fumed, "Joan talks to God. Joan's cra-a-zy. Better send her off for another summer of Crazy Camp!"

"You're not helping your cause, here," Grace pointed out, and she watched Joan collapse next to her on the bed. "You're serious, aren't you? You really think God gives you missions to accomplish?"

Joan nodded.

"And you've been keeping this secret for how long?"

"Two years."

"And crazy camp and all that therapy didn't change anything?"

"Nope. He came back."

"So why are you telling me this, now, Girardi?" Grace turned so she was facing Joan and waited for an answer.

After a long, thoughtful pause, Joan sat up on the bed and faced Grace. "Because I think I need your help."

"Help…how? Help not talking to God anymore, or help on one of your 'missions'?"

Joan looked away and mumbled, "A mission."

Grace took a deep breath and eyed Joan closely. Apart from breaking the news that she had regular conversations with God, she seemed like the same old Joan. And really, this whole "mission from God," bit of information explained a whole lot of Joan's bizarre behavior. And what was the bit of advice she read about communicating with crazy people—work with the delusion—something like that.

"Okay, Girardi, hit me with it. What's your project this time?"

"Well, I'm not entirely sure…" Joan cringed as Grace rolled her eyes. She sighed and plunged in.

"See, Ryan Hunter is like the antichrist or something. He's definitely the enemy. He talks to God, too, and knows that I talk to God, but he has this thing against God. He breaks the rules and doesn't do what God wants, and I think he's going to ruin the world, or at least really mess up Arcadia, and I'm supposed to stop him, but I need an army…"

Grace cut in—"an army?"

"Like Joan of Arc."

"Oh. Of course."

"And you're my army. Or at least part of it."

Grace leaned back on the bed, absorbing Joan's flood of explanation. "Okay," she said, " you need an army to help keep Ryan Hunter from ending the world…is that right?"

Joan nodded.

"What exactly has Ryan Hunter done to make you think that he's the antichrist, or whatever?"

Joan gulped and looked away from Grace. "He's the one who vandalized the church and burned the synagogue."

Grace's face suddenly changed. "He _what?!_"

"He's the one who did it, Grace. He admitted it to me, practically. It's like he's trying to turn people against God, or something. And all the big, powerful people in town love him. He's got them all in his back pocket—the police, the newspaper, the school board, Mom and Dad…"

"…Rove…" Grace added. Both girls sat in silence, lost in their own thoughts, until Grace turned back to Joan. "So what you're telling me is that this Ryan guy has some sort of vendetta against God and he's taking it out on Arcadia by systematically attacking places of worship, in the hopes that all these good religious folk will turn against God with him?"

"As far as I can tell, yes," Joan replied, "and I think it's just starting. But I have no idea how to stop him. I mean, we're just kids. No one takes us seriously. I tried to warn my dad about Ryan, and he didn't take me seriously. My army isn't really an army. It all feels like a cruel joke."

"Who exactly is in this army of yours, besides us?"

Joan dropped back on the bed again. "Luke, Glynis, Freidman and Adam." She turned red and groaned.

Grace, on the other hand, started to smile. "God's army of subdefectives…"

"I know!" exclaimed Joan. "It will never work, will it?"

"No, no, Dude! This is the first part that makes sense to me. All through my Bat Mitzvah prep—and remember I was in and out of those classes for way too many years—we kept reading stories about God overthrowing the big, bad empires by choosing one or two unlikely people to lead the way. Moses against Pharaoh; David against Goliath; Esther, Daniel, Elijah—they're all stories about small-time subdefectives taking down The Man." Grace was uncharacteristically excited.

"So you believe me? About talking to God?"

"I'm not sure, Girardi. That's still pretty weird. But if you think your job is to take down the bastard who burned down our synagogue, I'm in your corner, whether you talk to God or not."

Joan leapt forward and embraced Grace in a hug that Grace promptly wriggled out of.

"Whoa—not so into the hugging, dude." Joan let go and sat back on the bed next to Grace. Grace adjusted her shirt, and then looked Joan in the eye. "So what's next? Does anyone else in your 'army' know about this?"

"Nope. Not even Luke."

"Not even Rove?" Grace probed.

"No. We're not so much on speaking terms these days, in case you haven't noticed," Joan gave Grace a look, and Grace rolled her eyes. "Besides, he's so into Ryan that I'm afraid I'll just push him further away."

Grace started picking at the threads on her clothes again. "That's a distinct possibility. But I really think he deserved to hear all this from you. Soon. The rest of them we can rally together as a group, but if Rove's gonna be a part of this, he deserves to hear your secret directly from you, before the others."

Joan groaned by nodded. She had reached a similar conclusion herself, although she was still inclined to avoid Adam at all costs. "You're right," she conceded. "Will you come with me, though? Just so he'll take me seriously?"

Grace scowled. This sounded suspiciously like taking sides. But she could understand Joan's nervousness. "Okay. I'll be there, but I'm the silent partner. I don't speak. Got it?"

"Got it."


	2. It Continues

Helen and Lily sat in front of the TV, watching the breaking news:

"_Though police refuse to comment, this most recent act of vandalism may be connected to two equally devastating attacks at the beginning of the summer. All three are crimes committed during the night in places of worship, first in a Catholic church, then a local synagogue, and now the meeting hall of the Society of Friends, also known as the Quakers…Last night's vandals appear to have torn the pages out of every book on the premises, including several valuable historical documents. These thousands of pages are strewn around the meeting hall, in the words of one witness, 'as if a tornado hit.' At this time no structural damage has been reported."_

Joan and Grace caught the tail end of the report, and saw images of the paper-strewn hall as they came down the stairs from Joan's bedroom. Joan gave Grace a knowing look. It was not over. Ryan struck again. The two overheard Lily as she began questioning Helen.

"So you dreamt about this one, too?"

"Yes," Helen replied, "I was standing in that hall, but I didn't know where it was. Wind was whipping around me. I felt the paper blowing past me, and it hurt—like each page cut me as it passed—on my hands and my legs and my face. It was awful!"

Joan and Grace paused on the landing by the front door and looked at each other. Helen Girardi was dreaming about these attacks? Before they happened?

"Weird," Joan whispered to Grace before calling out to her mother, "I'm going out with Grace! Be back later!"

"Okay, honey. Be careful," was Helen's automatic reply.

Lily and Helen continued watching the news report, with its cycles of images surveying the destruction. At the commercial break Helen turned off the TV and turned to Lily with a groan.

"It's all so terrible! Who would do this?"

"I gave up asking that question months ago," Lily replied with a grimace, "It only makes me angry."

"The part that makes me angry is these dreams," Helen sighed.

Lily's face hardened. "See, I don't get that!" She almost snapped the words out as she turned to face Helen. "I would give my right eye to have your charism—the discerning of spirits—but it only makes you angry. How cosmically unfair is that?"

"I wouldn't be so jealous, Lily. I'm not convinced these dreams are a charism, or even that they come from God. I mean, if they are supposed to be the discernment of spirits, wouldn't these dreams tell me something useful? Wouldn't I be able to stop these horrible things from happening? What's the use in dreaming about them if the real crime is committed before I wake up?"

Lily shook her head. "I admit that one's got me stumped, too, but I'm pretty sure God is giving you these dreams for a reason. Maybe they're not really about the crimes—maybe they just coincide with these real life events to catch your attention—to make sure you remember them…"

"Well, God's definitely got my attention," Helen shot back angrily, and Lily could hear the warning in her tone. It was that motherly don't-make-me-come-after-you tone of voice, but she couldn't tell if Helen was warning her, or warning God.

She decided not to risk pushing Helen over the edge, and she extricated herself awkwardly. "Well… I told Kevin I'd meet him for dinner tonight, so I should go get dressed and stuff… you know. I'll see you next week?"

Helen softened a little and looked at Lily with curiosity. "Do you really get dressed up to go out with my son? Somehow I can't quite picture it."

"Oh yeah," Lily retorted, "I wear my frayed denim _skirt_ instead of jeans and I put on lip gloss." Lily shot Helen and defiant smirk on her way out the door. Helen almost laughed out loud, but the smile on her face froze as she realized that she had no idea whether or not Lily was joking. She headed to the kitchen to get dinner ready, shaking her head at Lily, and trying not to think about the news.


	3. Telling Adam

Adam sat at his workbench welding together two angry-looking barbs of scrap metal when a familiar silhouette in the doorway caught his breath.

"Jane?" he barely whispered, and took off his welding mask to be sure he wasn't hallucinating. But there she was, standing in his garage, sucking all the air out of the room.

Then Grace walked in behind her and Adam could breathe again.

"Hey," Grace shot into the uncomfortable silence.

"Hey," Adam returned, glancing at Joan, "What's up?"

Grace looked at Joan, who was still standing stiffly right inside the door. Joan didn't even notice Grace trying to catch her eye. She was too busy looking everywhere in the room expect at Adam.

"Um…" Grace filled the growing silence, "Well, Rove, I _thought_ that Girardi, here, had something to say…" Joan finally looked Grace's way and began to collect her thoughts. She felt Adam watching her and it took all her willpower not to meet his gaze.

"Y-yeah," Joan stammered, "see, I um…" She was getting lost. Where should she start? Now Joan found herself avoiding Grace's frustrated glare as well as Adam's curious eyes. After a few moments of mental free-fall, she finally found a foothold—a place to start the climb.

"Remember when I told you that I stopped seeing God. You know, after crazy camp." Out of the corner of her eye, Joan could see Adam's head nod. "Well, I lied. I was still talking to God, and I still am." Joan braced herself for a dramatic reaction, but Adam just looked at her.

Joan finally let herself look directly at Adam, and the lack of surprise on his face threw her completely off balance. "I talk to God, Adam! I do missions for the almighty! I'm a 20th century Joan of Arc, going to battle for the Lord!" She needed some kind of reaction.

Adam shrugged. "I know," he stated, "or at least I was pretty sure."

Joan stood with her mouth gaping, and Grace stifled the urge to throttle Adam herself for never mentioning this.

Adam leaned back in his chair, enjoying these reactions for just a moment. It wasn't often that he felt so clued in. He was even pretty sure he had seen some of these conversations with God in progress. He decided to test his theories.

"The spikey-haired goth-dude, right?" Joan's eyes widened as she nodded her head. "And the cool looking guy I was jealous of at that party—the one who danced with you? And the janitor—the woman janitor. And that older woman who was at the hospital… I'm pretty sure I saw her at the bookstore, too."

Joan was floored. "How…?"

Adam shrugged again, but Grace was the one who answered, "He was watching you, dude." She had seen some of those people Adam mentioned, too. Pieces were clicking. Then she noticed the red flush that had crept up both her friends' faces after her matter-of-fact remark. "Oh come on!" She exclaimed, "It's not like we don't all know that Rove's been obsessed with you forever." Grace watched both of her friends redden even more. "You know what, dudes? My job here is over. Girardi—he knows—you don't need me to convince him. I'm leaving—you two work it out!"

Grace practically ran out of the garage, leaving Joan and Adam in an awkward silence.

"You _knew_." Joan moved further into the room and found a work bench to sit on.

Adam felt his self-satisfaction changing into irritation—an irritation he was glad to indulge, because otherwise he would focus on the fact that he and Joan were alone in his garage for the first time in months.

"I knew. What I don't understand is why admit it _now_?"

Joan suppressed a groan. This was always going to be the hard part.

"It's because of Ryan."

"Ryan—like newspaper Ryan?"

Joan nodded. "See, Ryan talks to God, too, except instead of following God's instructions, Ryan kind of does his own thing."

"Okay…" Adam tried to process this new information. "Is that a problem?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"Well, his-own-thing includes trashing churches and burning synagogues."

Adam sat up straight in his chair. "There's no way! Ryan saved my life, Joan. He got me a job. He's a good guy."

Joan was ready for this response. She kept her tone gentle, "Adam, he told me. He told me he doesn't think God is in control, or that God made a mistake creating the world, or something like that. I'm… not sure I totally understood him, but he definitely has it out for God, and when I told him that I was on to him—that I knew he vandalized the church and burned the synagogue, he called me a 'worthy adversary.' He did it, Adam."

Adam tried to sort through Joan's muddled explanation. "So he never actually _said_ that he did those things…"

Joan opened her mouth to disagree, and then paused. "No. I guess he didn't." Adam raised an eyebrow, challenging her. "But he didn't deny it, either, Adam! I'm sure he did it. And today he struck again, at the Quaker church, or Friendship Hall, or whatever they call it…"

Adam shook his head, "Joan, you don't have any proof. It's been months since the church and the synagogue—are they even connected to this new attack? When did you talk to Ryan, anyway?"

"At the end of the school year. He came into the shop once, talking about free will and how it was a mistake for God to give it to us, but how he was going to use his free will to do his own thing and not take any orders from God. Then at school, that's when he called me his 'adversary'." Joan was standing up, now, trying to make her point. She felt like Adam was a judge behind his bench and she was a prosecutor pleading her case. Or maybe she was the defense lawyer, defending herself.

"Wait, Joan, that was months ago. If this is so important, why did you wait all summer to start telling people? Your dad is the chief of police! Wouldn't you want him to know if you thought Ryan was responsible for those crimes?"

"I _did_ tell him, and he didn't believe me! Why would anyone believe me?" Even though she had rehearsed this conversation all summer, Joan felt her hands trembling as she struggled to find the right words to make Adam understand. "I waited all this time because I didn't know how to tell people that God talks to me, and that God wants me to stop Ryan, or something like that—counterbalance him…fulfill my true nature… I'm not sure I even get it. It makes me sound crazy. Do you blame me for not wanting to spend another summer at crazy camp?"

Adam smiled a little bit, watching as Joan tried to compose herself. Joan was never great at staying calm under pressure, but Adam realized this was one of the things he missed about her, too. She got so passionate about things she believed in, even if they made no sense to the rest of the world.

Joan felt Adam's gaze, and got self-conscious. She closed her eyes and tried to steel herself for the most important part of what she came to say: "Anyway, I'm telling you now, because I need your help. I can't do this alone—you need to be part of my army."

"Joan…" Adam began reluctantly, but Joan cut him off.

"And don't call me Joan!"

"What?" Adam's eyebrows pulled together in confusion.

"It makes me feel like you're mad at me, or something…" For the first time since she walked in the room, Joan looked straight into Adam's eyes. "I really need you to be on my side, Adam."

And she went and took his breath away again. "J—Jane…" Adam fought the impulse to promise everything Joan asked. "I'm always on your side, Jane. I just don't know why Ryan has to be on the other side."

Joan felt an ache deep in her chest—the same ache she always felt when she remembered how much she loved Adam and how much he hurt her. She didn't want to still feel like she needed him so much.

"Fine," she began, and then realized how whiney she sounded. She wanted to be strong in front of Adam, not needy. "I'll manage. You do what you need to do." She started to turn and leave the garage, but Adam called out:

"Jane, wait!" Joan paused, but didn't turn around. She heard Adam's footsteps as he moved around from behind his work bench. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she did not want to cry in front of Adam. "What are you planning to do?" he asked.

"I don't know, yet." She took a deep breath, suppressing the tears, and turned back to face Adam. "I still have to tell Luke, Glynis and Freidman. Then, I guess, we'll come up with a plan together."

Adam could see Joan's fear and insecurity in the wet look of her eyes. Ryan had been good to him, and he wasn't going to plot against the man without some kind of proof, but here was Joan, finally letting him in on her mission from God. He'd been waiting for that for a year, now. He couldn't just say no and let her walk away.

"Let me know when you're telling the others. I'll be there. I won't promise to help you fight Ryan, or whatever, but I'll be there."

Joan almost stepped forward to hug Adam, but stopped herself just in time. Instead she choked out, "Thanks," and spun around quickly to make her exit as the tears spilled over.

Adam stood alone in the middle of the garage, watching Joan until she turned the corner onto the sidewalk. He turned back to his work table and picked up the sharp, angular sculpture. Pain. It was all he knew these days—all he felt was pain, all he caused was pain. He tossed the piece aside. He didn't have any energy left today.


End file.
